Jake Long and the Author's Quest for Sprite
by YFWE
Summary: YFWE attempts to avoid copyright laws as he and Jake search for Sprite.


Um... I was bored. All I can say about this

I've started school, so updates on other fics will be scarce, just to let you know. Um... here we go.

Jake Long and the Author's Quest for Sprite

YFWE

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

George Lucas made a movie called Star Wars.

But that has nothing to do with the story.

That is, unless the Dark Side has Sprite.

That'd be cool if they did.

Anyway...

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Jake Long, from New York City.

And you already know he's a dragon, the American Dragon, et cetera, et cetera.

That's why you're in this section on you're lost. And that means you're really not direction savvy, are you?

But one Saturday, Jake realized he didn't have to go to school, and decided that he would do nothing except sit around his house.

And drink Sprite.

You see, Jake's life has hit a downward spiral the last few months.

And to top it off, he found out that Rose was Huntsgirl.

Most people would get depressed.

Some would begin to do drugs.

Some would consume mass quantities of alcohol.

But not Jake.

Jake became addicted to Sprite.

And every day since, Jake Long has had five Sprites a day.

Don't ask where he gets it, because he won't answer you.

First of all, because he's a cartoon character. If you can talk to cartoon characters, you have a major problem and need to seek help.

But besides that, he won't tell you anyway. But between you and me, he uses his dragon powers and steals some from various supermarkets in the area.

Jake is not a bad kid. He just needs Sprite very bad. Furthermore, no one knows that he's stealing it, considering he does it at nighttime, so it's all good in the neighborhood.

So Jake drinks Sprite. And drinks more and more, until he can't drink any more and falls asleep.

Sprite has no caffeine after all, you know.

But it does have sugar.

And a special ingredient that causes cancer.

But The Coca-Cola Company won't tell you that.

So how do I know?

I'm the author. Don't mind me, though. Just focus on Jake.

Ever heard that Sprite stunts your growth? I haven't, but maybe you have. That would explain why Jake is so short. Then again, he was short before his Sprite addiction began. That is, unless there's something else Jake's not telling us.

So that Saturday, Jake decided to find an excuse to sit in his room all day, without any interruptions.

Unfortunately, he didn't bank on one small thing.

"The last Sprite!", he exclaimed, staring at the lone can sitting under his bed. There was only one left?

"That's mine!", the Sprite guy yelled from Jake's windowsill. This is the Sprite guy, as in the small, plastic one with the afro.

Afros are overrated.

At any rate...

"Oh no you don't, Sprite guy!", Jake yelled, and guarded the last Sprite.

"Back off, American Dragon!", he yelled, and a man dressed in black ran in, picked up the Sprite guy, moved his arms and legs around a little ( he is an action figure, you know), and moved him over to the floor in front of Jake.

"Hey, Jay-Z! So this is what you do for your day job after you retired!", Jake exclaimed at the man that was moving the Sprite guy.

"Shh!", Jay-Z whispered. "I've decided I'm not Jay-Z anymore. Now I'm just... Z. Kinda like what P Diddy did, only the other way around, so I don't get sued. Or shot. Or sued then shot. Or shot then sued. I don't know how that would happen, but... I got 99 Problems and gettin' sued ain't one. Hit me!"

"Okay, uh... Z. See you next Friday for my gangster lessons!"

"Actually, next time the Sprite guy needs to be moved, you'll see me. But until then, see ya."

Jake returned to the battle with the Sprite guy. "The cool, crisp, clear, refreshing lemon-lime taste of Sprite shall be mine!", the Sprite guy said.

"Whatever you say."

Jake kicked him out the window.

"Show 'em my motto!", he called in flight as he disappeared into the streets.

"Okay then...", Jake picked up the Sprite, popped the top off, and drank the Sprite.

Ah... the taste of victory. It is... well, it tastes like Sprite.

Not that that's a bad thing.

Victory... thy name is Sprite.

But thy victory hast been short lived for...

"I'm out of Sprite!", Jake yelled.

"World crisis?", Haley poked her head in.

"Duh!", Jake slammed the door in her face.

What to do, what to do?

First things first.

I just fell out of my chair. Let me get back up first.

Okay, I'm back up. So, what to do?

Could he go steal some from a supermarket or convenience store?

It wasn't dark yet. It wouldn't be for a long time.

Wait a sec...

The Sprite guy had dropped some of his bling on the ground. And there was a pawn shop.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking that Jake was thinking?

If not, it's okay.

You just either have no common sense, or you don't know what a pawn shop is.

(End)

"I can give you 5 dollars for this", the pawn shop owner said.

5 dollars. You can buy a 24-pack of Sprite with that.

"That's great! I'll take it!", Jake accepted the money and began on his merry little way to the nearest store.

The store he visited was actually part of a gas station. A Speedway, to be exact.

Jake walked inside and immediately made a left to the pop section.

But what to his wondering eyes should appear...

A miniature can of Pepsi...

And no Sprite.

"Um... sir?", he asked the gas station attendant, "Are you out of Sprite?"

"Yep", the attendant answered. "Someone keeps stealing it. So we figured the best thing to do would be to no longer sell it and instead jack up our stock of Diet Sprite Zero!"

Jake gasped. Diet Sprite Zero is, like, a disgrace to Sprite. Ever been to the front of a school, and you see all the popular kids in one group? They're Sprite.

Then there's the other kids. The ones that aren't extremely popular, but are still kind of liked. These would be Diet Sprite- nowhere near as good as the original, but still tolerable.

And then there's the kids standing around in a corner, smoking pot and skateboarding on school property- even though they know they're not allowed. They smoke all kinds of stuff and barely get by in school, and... yeah, we'll stop there. They would be Diet Sprite Zero. Get the picture?

"Well... do you know any place that has Sprite?", Jake asked. He had stolen at least once from just about every Sprite dealer in the city. Did any of them do the same?

"I don't really make it a point to look into other businesses'... uh, business", he replied, "If I were you, I'd go check it out for yourself. There's gotta be SOMEONE in the city that still has Sprite.

(End)

Oh, how true that was.

Note the sarcasm.

Two hours of searching, and no luck. There was officially no place in New York City with the cool, clear, crisp, refreshing taste of Sprite.

Now Sierra Mist on the other hand...

But Sierra Mist is Sprite's mortal enemy.

Everyone knows this.

So what to do? No Sprite...

Jake was beginning to get a headache from this madness. He also had had one Sprite.

You know what happens to caffeine-addicts when they don't get any caffeine.

Headache.

Granted, Sprite has no caffeine.

Maybe it was the sugar...

Either way, it was time.

Time for drastic measures.

Like what?

Well, Jake hadn't figured that one out yet.

But be forewarned, it'll probably be pretty drastic.

(End)

"Mom! An you drive me to New Jersey?", Jake asked.

Oh yeah, driving a few miles is drastic, all right.

"No, can't."

"What the... why not?"

"Because I have to drive your dad to the airport today. He's gotta go to a National Pepsi convention, remember?"

Jake growled. Pepsi... the company that manufactures Sierra Mist...

"I wish I knew why he can't drive himself to the airport, but whatever. I'm taking Haley with me, so you'll have some alone time for a while. Be good, Jake!", and she walked out the door to the car where his dad and Haley were already waiting.

As he watched their car, 'Old Faithful', as it was affectionately named by Mr. Long, Jake sat down on the steps in front of his house and sighed. What to do?

This is where I come in.

"Why, hello!", a voice boomed from the sky.

"Uh...", Jake looked up, "Who's there?"

"I am!", the voice boomed again.

"Yeah, uh, I know that. But... who are you?"

"I'm the author of this story!"

"The author? Um... this isn't a story."

"Well, actually, you're right, it usually isn't. It's usually a TV show."

"A Tv show? You mean, I'm on TV?'

"Disney Channel."

"Aw...", Jake seemed disappointed, "I was hoping it was BET or something."

"Okay, that's kinda weird there. Anyway.. This is a story, and I'm here to help you find some Sprite."

"How? First of all, I can't see you. Second, there's no Sprite left in the city!"

"In the city, there may not be any...", a white light lowered from the sky, "But outside the city, that's a whole other story." The voice showed itself, taking the form of... well, me.

"And now you can see me."

"Am I dreaming?'

"Uh... would it make you feel better if I said yes?"

"Probably."

"We'll go with that", the author said. He motioned off towards the distance, "So... you ready to go?"

"Go where?"

"To find you some Sprite, duh!", the author laughed. "We are going to a magical place, a place that exceeds expectations beyond your wildest dreams... and has Sprite!"

"Where would that be?"

"Well, let me show you", he clutched Jake's hand, who returned a look of alarm.

"Tell anyone about this, and I'll... I'll... do something very, very bad to you. I did write this story, after all."

"No prob."

And with that, Jake felt himself being teleported- or something along those lines, considering that he'd never teleported before- away from the steps outside his home and to some unknown place.

At least it was an unknown place before he got there. But as soon as he saw the monuments... the cherry blossom trees... the traffic...

"Um... why are we in Washington D.C?", asked Jake, confused.

"You want your Sprite back, don't you?"

"Well, of course, but... why here?"

"Because it's where I chose to go! Don't ask questions!", the author yelled, turning towards the White House, "Notice where we are?"

"What the hell? We're on the White House lawn!"

"Precisely."

"Are you crazy? We'll be shot!"

"Probably."

"Holy-", Jake stared at the Secret Service members spotting them from atop the White House, and aiming their guns...

"DRAGON UP!", Jake yelled, changed, and flew up into the air. He heard shots ring out below him, and he looked down to see the author of this story being blown away. And Jack Nicholson, too. But we don't know where he came from.

Fearing the worst, Jake quickly flew past the snipers and behind the White House.

There, while he was amidst a break in the shots being fired, he saw the author.

"I thought you were dead", said Jake.

"I'm the author! Do you honestly think I'd kill myself off? Besides...", he pointed to a door into the White House nearby, "that's where we need to go."

"Into the White House? We already almost got killed outside, what makes you think we'll do better inside?"

"Well, I am the author, and what I say goes, so... don't worry. Your life is safe with me."

"Then why don't I feel safe?", muttered Jake.

In they ran, and surprisingly, the door was unlocked. Jake stayed in dragon form, just in case if anything came his way. Plus, they were bound to have security cameras... if he was in human form, they'd be able to find out who he was.

Jake followed the author around corners and straight through rooms at times. Luckily, there seemed to be no one down there at that particular time.

He followed him until they reached an ordinary door. As in, much like the other doors. But apparently, this was different.

"Not only do I have to open the door", the author said as he turned the doorknob, "but I also need the code to get in."

The door opened, and there sat another door, with a number pad on it. The author pressed a series of numbers, and the second door opened.

And then...

Jake realized what heaven was.

For there in the room were tons of cardboard boxes.

Boxes stacked up to the ceiling. Boxes that said 'Sprite' on them.

"Mr. President, we've hit the motherload", Jake said, eyes wide.

"That's correct, son."

Jake gasped. For standing up behind a stack of boxes was none other than George Dubya himself.

"It's... it's the president!", Jake exclaimed to the author. But the author was gone, back in his sucky Ohio home writing this story and watching CNN.

"I suppose you're here for the Sprite, aren't you?", President Bush grinned.

"Um... yeah. Could I just get it and leave?"

"Afraid I can't let you do that", Bush said as his Secret Service stood up behind him.

"Um... I can't fight the president!", said Jake, raising his arms. "I'd be, like, outlawed from the US!"

"Sorry", Bush sighed. "If you'd like, I can let you leave and not say that this ever happened."

"Yeah...", Jake turned to leave.

"But before you do, I have something to tell you."

"What?", asked Jake gloomily.

"You've..."

"Just..."

"Been..."

"PUNK'D!"

George Bush ripped off his mask, and it revealed Ashton Kutcher underneath. The Secret Service disappeared, as they turned out to be holographs.

"Oh... my...", Jake stuttered.

"Yes, it's true", Ashton Kutcher laughed. "Now you can have your Sprite."

"Awesome."

"But before you do..."

"You've..."

"Just..."

"Been..."

"PUNK'D!"

"What the...", Jake looked more confused than he had been.

And Ashton Kutcher took off his mask and revealed... the author.

"Where'd you come from?", asked Jake.

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm just a figment of your imagination", the author smiled. "Now I'll leave you to your Sprite."

As the author left, Jake went over to a box of Sprite.

All that he had done today had led up to this. Finally, after all this, Jake was finally going to get some Sprite.

He opened the box...

And gasped.

For there, lying in the box, rather than Sprite, were bottles of..."

"Sierra Mist! No!"

END

Um... I'll get back to my normal fics now. Read and review!

YFWE


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